Hear You Me
by BrainySmurf6
Summary: My obligatory take on the immediate aftermath of "Lauren".  Includes everyone, but a heavy Reid focus.  "The last conversation they will ever have was about surveillance footage, and he will never be able to change that."
1. Hear You Me

_Author's Note: So I couldn't resist doing a post-Lauren fic. I've got a massive affinity for the Reid/Emily friendship (sometimes I have shipping tendencies, sometimes not…depends on the day) and Reid just broke my heart in the episode. Plus, grief is one my favorite subjects to write about, so I couldn't resist the set up._

_It will probably be continued, though right now I don't know if it will just be a series of scenes tracing the aftermath of Emily's 'death' or if it will eventually evolve into a bigger plot (i.e. her eventual return and the reveal). Right now, it's just as things occur to me. Hope you enjoy…let me know what you think._

Chapter One

_So what would you think of me now,  
so lucky, so strong, so proud?  
I never said thank you for that,  
now I'll never have a chance._

There is a moment, barely thirty seconds after she's confirmed what Hotch already knew, that makes JJ, for the first time, glad for her distance from the team.

All it takes is Hotch turning to gaze into the waiting room, a storm in his eyes as he watches the team absorbing the blow, and suddenly JJ understands how heavily this lie will weigh on her.

She follows Hotch's gaze and grimaces; her friends have not yet begun to reach out to each other, not even Morgan and Garcia. They sit apart, wordless, locked in their own grief.

Rossi's head is bowed, as if in prayer. Seaver has stood up, drifting away, as though understanding her own detachment. Morgan is staring down at his hands, as though he can still see Emily's blood staining his palms, in spite of the dozens of times he washed them when he got to the hospital. Garcia cradles her head in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. And Reid is doubled over on the couch he sank into when JJ left, clutching his stomach as though he's in physical pain.

Then, as JJ watches, Reid's head snaps up, a strange, focused look coming into his eyes. Instinct propels JJ toward him, a dim sense of panic stirring.

He stands up, and JJ has barely rounded the corner when Reid states, "I need to see her. " His eyes are huge, and he fixes JJ with a wild stare. "JJ, I need to see Emily. I, I need to see her. I need to see Emily _now_."

JJ winces. She had a suspicion that's where Reid was heading earlier, and she'd been relieved when she'd managed to stop him. She casts a helpless gaze at Hotch for help, who looks, for once, at a loss.

"Spence…" Her voice is soothing. "That's not a good idea."

"_No_." The pitch of his voice is climbing. "I, I, need to see her. Tell me where Emily is, JJ, tell me, I have to see her, right now." He waits, eyes darting, waiting for one of them to give in. When no one says anything, he repeats, emphatically, "_Tell me where Emily is_."

"Reid," Hotch finally speaks, his voice both gentle and firm. "They've already moved her."

Immediately, Reid is protesting again, the words coming out in a rush. "Then…then I'll go there. I'll go where they took her. Where is she? The morgue, or…" He pauses, staggering backwards a little, the word knocking the wind out of him.

For a long, still moment, everyone is silent. Then, Reid's face tightens in a childlike mask of grief, and JJ feels tears well in her eyes.

Something about Reid's outburst seems to get through to Morgan. He touches Garcia's shoulder before slowly getting to his feet and addressing Reid, his voice hoarse as though it's been years since he spoke. "C'mon, kid. We don't want to stay here, let's…let's go home."

Reid doesn't answer, his face tight, but as they begin to slowly move forward, he mechanically follows Morgan and Garcia out of the hospital, allows himself to be coerced into Morgan's car, and doesn't protest when Morgan goes to his own apartment.

~(CM)~

Morgan, Garcia and Reid sit around Morgan's living room. They haven't bothered to turn the lights on, and for twenty minutes, no one speaks.

Then, Garcia asks Morgan in a small voice about Emily's last moments of consciousness, and Morgan's off, his voice low and unsteady as he recalls his last conversation with her.

As he talks, something heated begins to flare in Reid's chest. He can't name it yet, but suddenly he can't look at Morgan, can only glare at the floor as he tries to block out the words.

Garcia and Morgan talk for over an hour; maybe they're crying at some point, Reid doesn't know. He has detached, staring at the floor without moving, their voices a dim hum in the background until Morgan says his name.

"Reid?" Morgan's voice is concerned, and there's a force in his tone that suggests this isn't the first time he's tried to get Reid's attention. Blinking up at him, Reid waits.

"Garcia's gonna stay in the spare room tonight… You want me to take you home?" He casts a glance back at Garcia, then adds, "Or you could crash on the couch."

Somehow, Reid manages to lift a word from his throat. "Sure."

Morgan looks relieved. He says something about blankets and pillows, and soon they're dropping onto Reid's lap.

Garcia and Morgan disappear. Bedroom doors click shut behind him.

Reid lays back on the couch, not because he feels tired but because he feels heavy. He agreed to stay here because moving feels like too much effort.

~(CM)~

Time is slipping away from him. He can't quite grasp it. So Reid doesn't know how long he's been lying awake, listening to the distant, muffled sounds of Garcia crying and, later, the thump of footsteps from one room to the other.

He cannot sleep. Thoughts are beginning a slow, torturous cycle through his mind, useless, idiotic thoughts that make his head feel like its splitting open.

Like…those times, so long ago, when he'd snapped at Emily every chance he got for scrutinizing him, for calling him out on behavior no one else was.

Like…once, when Benjamin Cyrus held a gun to his head, she spoke up and took the fall the save his life, and he hadn't even part of the team trying to save her.

Like…she was the one person he's told about the headaches, and now that secret's gone with her, and now he will never tell any of the others.

Like…for the first time in over two years he is craving.

Like…the last conversation they will ever have was about surveillance footage, and he will never be able to change that.

He is flat on his back and the skin on his temples is slick with tears. Reid's lungs feel constricted, aching, but when he opens his mouth for air, a scream claws its way out of his throat, raw and animalistic and stripped with pain.

Suddenly, the screams won't stop.

~(CM)~

Morgan can't sleep. His hands are still shaking, and even though it's been hours since there was a trace of blood on them, the cold sweat on his palms make him nauseous.

When he hears Garcia crying through the wall, Morgan listens for several minutes before he gets it together to stand and walk to his guest room.

He's quiet on the way, in case Reid is sleeping. There's no sound from the living room, but that doesn't tell him anything; the kid barely managed a syllable since they left the hospital.

"Baby girl?" Morgan whispers into the darkness, easing the door closed behind him.

A sob hitches, and Garcia whimpers an apology for keeping him awake.

"Couldn't sleep no matter what right now," he says softly, sitting beside her and putting an arm around his best friend's shoulders, offering a comfort he hadn't been able to so far.

Garcia's head drops onto his shoulder, and they sit together for several long, silent moments. Then, Garcia whispers thickly, "I can't believe she's really gone."

His eyes burning, Morgan tightens his jaw and says roughly, "In the ambulance, she…she kept squeezing my hand. The whole time, she squeezed it _so tight_…" His voice cracks, throat narrowing. "I really thought…"

"I know," Garcia replies, taking his hand and squeezing it.

When Morgan can speak again, his voice his choked as he determinedly changes the subject. "I'm worried about Reid."

"Me, too." Garcia pauses. "I'm worried about all of us."

This statement hovers in the air between them for a long moment, until a deep, gut wrenching scream penetrates the silence.

~(CM)~

He's on his knees in the middle of Morgan's living room with no memory of how he got there from the couch, no understanding of when he began driving his fists mercilessly into the carpet, screams continuously tearing themselves from some deep place within him, with no rationale.

Spencer Reid is not irrational. He does not break.

Except it feels like he is cracking open, falling to pieces, every scream shredding some part of his sanity.

Then Morgan's arms are grabbing him, hooking his arms and holding tight. The screams don't stop, and Reid thrashes, trying to wrench away, but as usual he is not strong enough.

"It's okay, you're alright. C'mon, Reid, we're right here, you're gonna be okay…" Morgan's voice is low and calming in Reid's ear. "I know, kid, I know…."

At that, a coherent thought finally penetrates Reid's consciousness and he feels a surge of resentment and rage so strong he can't see straight.

Because Morgan _doesn't _know. _Morgan_ got to say goodbye.

He got to tell Emily he was proud of her, that he was her partner and friend. He got to hold her hand and stay with her and he got to say everything he needed to say.

And Reid never will.

A scream dies in his throat, and instantly Reid stops fighting, going limp in Morgan's hold.

"That's it, there you go…" Slowly, Morgan eases his grip, and Reid presses his face against the carpet. "I know…"

Again, rage grips Reid. He wants Morgan to go away, to leave him alone and stop pretending to understand.

He can hear Morgan talking to Garcia, who must be somewhere in the room. "Can you get him some water?"

Reid doesn't wait for that. With a sudden flash of purpose, he pulls himself up from the floor, not sparing his friends a glance as he strides out of the apartment and slams the door behind him.

_A/N: That's all for now. Please do let me know what you thought. Been awhile since I wrote Criminal Minds, and this is the first Reid-focused one I've done._


	2. Long Ride Home

_A/N:__ Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the reviews for chapter one…glad you enjoyed my fic among all the other post-Lauren offerings out there. The ultimate plan for this is still kind of vague, but I've got ideas for the next few chapters at least. So, hope you continue to read and review. Song for this chapter is by Patty Griffin, and if I didn't mention it before, the story title is a Jimmy Eat World song.  
_

Chapter Two

_Long black limousine  
Shiniest car I've ever seen  
The back seat is nice and clean  
She rides as quiet as a dream  
Someone dug a hole six long feet in the ground  
I said goodbye to you and I threw my roses down_

Reid bursts out of Morgan's apartment, drawing in gulps of the warm night air like he's drowning.

He's been standing on the sidewalk thirty seconds when Morgan comes striding out behind him, his expression utterly confused. "Reid, what are you doin', man? Come back inside..." Morgan reaches out, laying on a hand on his shoulder, and Reid recoils as though he's been burned.

For a long moment, Morgan blinks at him, surprised. Eventually, he tries again, "It's okay, kid, let's just…let's just go back inside."

"Leave me alone." Reid's voice startles him. It's scratchy and raw, residual effects from his screaming, but it's the venom threaded through his tone that is most unfamiliar.

Morgan, too, seems taken aback. "Reid, you don't have your car," he reminds him. "And I don't think you should be by yourself right now."

Reid recognizes Morgan's tone; it's the soothing, placating one they use to coax information from victim's families. The fact that he now qualifies makes Reid even angrier, so he tightens his jaw and stays silent.

"Come on back upstairs," Morgan offers again, still using that voice. "We could all use some sleep."

"I'm not staying here," he insists stubbornly.

Morgan sighs, resigned. He doesn't have it in him to fight Reid right now. "Then I'll give you a ride home."

"No."

"Come on now, Reid, you know you can't walk from here."

For the first time, Reid, an angry heat in his eyes, swings his gaze to look at Morgan. "I'm not going home. I'm going to Emily's."

There's a momentary crack in Morgan's calm, soothing demeanor; he grimaces, his expression pained as he says softly, "Reid…Emily isn't there."

"I _know _that," Reid shoots back irritably. "You think I've somehow managed to forget? I…I have an eidetic memory, Morgan, I can remember Emily isn't..." Again, he looks away. "She has a cat now. Emily, she has a cat and someone…someone has to feed him."

Morgan stares at Reid, expression unreadable.

"Sergio," Reid adds unnecessarily, as though knowing the cat's name might give credence to his sudden purpose.

"Garcia has Emily's spare key," Morgan says after a moment's pause. "We'll go in the morning. Okay?"

A scoffing sound rises from Reid's chest. "I don't need your help, thanks."

For just a second, Morgan's eyes flash, and his lips part, as though he's on the verge of giving up and telling Reid to do whatever the hell he wants. But just as quickly, his shoulders sag with exhaustion, all annoyance vanishing. "Don't make me fight you on this, kid. Not right now. Just come back upstairs."

Reid is quiet for a long moment, quickly calculating the distance between Morgan's apartment and his own and the time it would take him to walk there at an average pace.

Walking home is something to do. It is a concrete task, something to occupy time, more so than lying silently on Morgan's couch.

So he turns his back on Morgan without a word, striding across the street and starting down the sidewalk, ignoring Morgan yelling after him.

~(CM)~

Hours later, Reid manages to fall asleep on his own sofa, though it doesn't last long. He dreams almost the entirety of a chess match and wakes up with the panicked feeling of have made a wrong move he can't undo.

He begins incessant calls to Garcia, and she eventually brings him the spare key to Emily's apartment. Garcia's eyes are red rimmed and they go soft around the edges when she looks at Reid, but he refuses to be drawn into conversation.

He also refuses her offer to accompany him to Emily's place, brusquely muttering that he doesn't need a chaperone.

Garcia's fill with hurt, but almost immediately the hurt is clouded by pity, and this only make Reid angrier. He is being a short, unreasonable asshole, and none of them seem to care.

She only touches his shoulder briefly before leaving, telling him she's going back to Morgan's and Reid should stop by when he's done.

But Reid knows he won't be going back there.

~(CM)~

Sergio is the first thing Reid sees when he enters Emily's apartment. The cat is slinking along the hallway, lazily rubbing his side against the wall, seemingly unaware and unaffected by his owner's absence.

Reid feels a flash of resentment that nearly sends him out the door again. In the next beat, though, he recognizes how ridiculous it is to feel jealous of a cat.

It doesn't take much time to locate a litter box, bowl, and cat food. As far as Reid is aware, these are the only supplies necessary for such a pet; cats are fairly low maintenance.

Still, he makes no move to leave right away, instead wandering slowly around Emily's apartment.

Her bedroom smells like her, in that strange, distinct way other people's homes do, so he lingers there for awhile. He pulls out random books from the shelves and thumbs through them, unsurprised to see folds on the corners of pages or the occasional underlined sentence.

When he gets to her living room, Reid finds his own box set of Doctor Who Season Four lying on the coffee table, and remembers with a start he has her X-Files Season Four at his own apartment. They've been swapping the series' for months, on her insistence, and occasionally went through a few episodes together after work.

Opening the cabinets of her entertainment unit, he finds dozens of DVDs, including the five seasons of X-Files he has yet to work through.

_Better take them with you…you don't get to slack off on our deal just because I'm not around._

Her voice, warm and teasing, is so clear in that dizzying second that Reid, crouched on his heels to look at the lower shelves, has to grab the corner of the entertainment unit to keep himself steady.

In the end, though, he leaves the DVDs; he doesn't even reclaim his own set. He simply lifts Sergio, hissing once in protest, and an emptied litter box now holding cat food into his arms, leaving _Doctor Who_ open on the coffee table, the fourth disc in the DVD player as though Emily will be returning any day now to finish it.

~(CM)~

All day, people call him. Reid starts to get the idea that the team is together, mourning as a group, leaning on each other, and they seem to want him to join in.

Reid wants no part of that. Seeing them all makes him angry, so angry his insides seethe, but they will not be offended by his anger. They will worry and coddle, and the last thing he wants is to be babied.

Emily wouldn't have babied him.

So he ignores their calls, and sits alone on his couch, watching Sergio acquaint himself with his new surroundings.

Reid flexes his arm unconsciously; he is craving.

There has always a small, distant ache lingering in the back of his mind, not so much a desire but a memory of the desire, an ability to recall what it had been like when his addiction was a _need_, a constantly pulsing _now, now, now_ as he fingers twitched for the needle.

This sort of recollection is to be expected; it is why they say you are always an addict; kick the habit, not the addiction.

But this is different; this is more than just the memory, this is real wanting. His hands are shaking and Reid curls them around the couch cushions, hating this feeling, hating himself.

It will not change what happened. It will not bring Emily back.

~(CM)~

There is a knock on his door later that night; maybe around dinner time, maybe much later; all Reid knows is that the sunlight has stopped streaming in from windows, leaving him completely in the dark save for the flickering television, which for hours and hours has been playing season four of the X Files with Reid absorbing none of it.

He ignores the knocking the same way he's ignored the show: in a way that takes no effort. The sound only dimly registers, in a way that doesn't seem to affect him at all.

It goes on for awhile (_A minute? Two? Five?_) before there's the clicking of a key in the lock, a knob turning.

Instantly, Reid snaps out of his stupor, gritting his teeth and steeling himself for a fight. Morgan is the one with his spare key; logic dictates, then, that Morgan is the one entering his house.

Instead, though, he hears a soft, female voice say, "Spence?"

Then JJ is sitting down beside him on the couch, calmly reaching out and pausing the DVD as though it's been any sort of distraction.

"How you doin'?" JJ's voice is soft and lilted, sympathy emanating from every syllable and Reid feels a rush of annoyance; she should be grieving, too, all of them are grieving…so why this constant need to look after _him_?

The logical part of Reid's mind can't help but answer: because he' the one who's withdrawing.

"We've been calling all day." That same lilt stays in her voice, and it makes everything sound warm and sympathetic. JJ places a hand on his shoulder. "We're worried about you."

Reid flinches, and in the next second he's shaking her off. Concern is radiating from the blonde, but that's all there is. She is not here to commiserate, to share sorrow over the fact that they have _both_ lost a friend, and there's only one explanation for that.

JJ has already moved on; she has already, to a certain degree, lost all of them. She cares about Emily, for sure, but her death will not upend the very structure of her life.

She will not have to stare at an empty desk every single day. She will not have to see the empty space on the jet, to sleepwalk through interactions suddenly bereft of Emily's one-liners and teasing.

Upon this realization, Reid feels the now familiar flare of resentment, something he never expected to be directed toward JJ.

"Spence?" JJ's prompting again, her eyes wide and patient.

"I'm fine," Reid replies finally, a cool finality to his tone. "And I don't need to be checked up on. I'm not a child."

He sees the surprise in JJ's expression, but of course she pushes through it. _Can't get mad at Reid for being tetchy, no, no, poor thing's probably having a hard time, just keep an extra eye on him_. "I'm checking up on you because everyone else has been at Morgan's all day," she explains gently. "You're the one who hasn't answered his phone."

Pause. He says nothing, won't even look at her; Reid just stares at the frozen image onscreen, Mulder looking at Scully and waits for JJ to leave.

After a moment, she continues uncertainly, "Morgan said you walked home last night after…well, after having…" JJ trails off, flustered, apparently deciding that something like _after having a breakdown, complete with an uncontrollable screaming fit_ might be too much for Reid's thin skin.

"Maybe Morgan should learn to keep things to himself," Reid mutters unfeelingly, and again JJ's eyes go wide with surprise, and Reid can imagine what she's thinking.

_Not like Spencer to be so short. He's usually so sweet, must be acting out, poor thing, poor thing…_

"You know, you can go," he adds brusquely, his tone tinged with bitterness. "The others will be needing your report."

Hurt shades JJ's eyes now, and she is frozen on the couch for a long, uncomfortable minute before standing, hesitant as she says, "Let me know if there's anything I can do, Spence."

"Uh, unless you can tell me Emily's still alive, then there's not much you can do for me, JJ," Reid spats, angry.

There's a silence then, and it stretches on as Reid occupies himself once again with the static image on his television.

He's unsure if JJ is even there anymore when there's an audible sniffle, and before he can stop himself Reid is turning around to find her hovering behind his couch, tears rolling down JJ's face, one hand pressed over her lips to muffle sobs that haven't yet started.

A wave of shame ripples through him momentarily, but Reid quickly stifles it with a rather unkind thought, _Good. Finally. Finally you feel it, too, when you are not too busy comforting and pitying._

"I'm sorry," JJ chokes out thickly. "I'm so, so sorry." She doesn't seem to be apologizing for crying, but Reid can't figure out what else there may be.

In the next second, JJ is out the door.

~(CM)~

There is a text from her, later, apologizing for running out and saying that she forgot to mention that Hotch said to take another day off, if needed.

Reid has no way of knowing if this was a general directive or specifically for him, but either way he is uninterested.

He can go to work. He can go to work and stare at her empty desk. He does not need time off to recover or rest or whatever it is they think. He does not need another day alone in his apartment with Emily's cat and Emily's DVDs.

So he goes into work the next day, even though it takes him more than an hour to move from a spot outside the elevator to the trio of desks in the bullpen. The others try low, concerned greetings when they first arrive (and move to their respective offices with no trouble) but when his only response is to harden his expression even more, they leave him alone.

The various agents and analysts milling through the bullpen have only just begun to lose interest in staring at this latest spectacle (_Behold! The Frozen Boy Genius)_ when Reid's legs begin working again, moving him toward his desk.

Next to Emily's.

So he does paperwork. The others come by to check on him, under the guise of small talk, and Reid keeps his retorts sharp and bitter or monosyllabic and irritable, whichever fits.

All the while he can see them Not Looking. Not Looking at Emily's desk, Not Looking at the venom in his eyes, Not Looking at the way pens twitch in his shaking hands as he tries to focus on reports and consults.

Then, mercifully, Hotch tells them they have a case.

~(CM)~

The funeral comes.

He does not want to go but no one's offering a choice.

This time, this funeral, he will be a pallbearer. Until now, he never thought that was a strange concept: people who were close to the deceased carrying the casket, but suddenly the whole thing seems bizarre and harsh.

It's almost cruel, he thinks, to expect any such task of the grieving. Attending the funeral, watching a loved one get buried, surely that is already too much. Surely there should be no more demands.

But again, no one is offering him a choice, possibly because he barely speaks to them. Reid is unsure how anyone's doing because he is shutting them out, limiting his friends to a sort of peripheral vision; he is dimly aware of their presence, but nothing more detailed.

Reid keeps his eyes straight ahead as he holds the casket up. He is trying not to think about how close her body is to him, or where this casket is going, or how there was no open casket part of this, how he will really never see her again.

Then, unbidden, a memory squeezes itself to the forefront of his memory. Seattle. JJ's first case back after Henry was born. The Unsub was embalming his victims.

"_Personally, the whole thing just seems weird to me. Embalming, I mean." _

"_Some people like to look good for their funeral." _

"_But it's not them. It's just a shell, polished and painted. I just want to be cremated."_

The memory, Emily's words, her rebuttal to Morgan's flippant response, freezes him, and Reid grinds to a halt, the casket nudging forward in his grip as the others pull up short behind him.

"Reid." Beside him, Morgan mutters his name. "Kid, we gotta keep movin'." A pause. _"Reid."_

His stomach is coiling into knots, the bitter, acidic taste of bile curling in his throat, and for a few horrifying moments Reid is sure he'll be sick.

He is still for so long there are murmurings sweeping around them, then he hears Morgan say something about getting Will, and it is this that propels Reid forward.

He is not a child. He does not need to be replaced.

Still, throughout the funeral, while he drowns out words, all he can do is look at the casket, at the shiny box holding Emily's embalmed body, polished and painted even though no one will see it, and think that they are _wrong, wrong, wrong, it's all wrong, she doesn't want this, we have to start over, this is wrong, she told us so…._

But later, when they have covered the casket with roses, he can do nothing to stop it from going into the ground, even as his panic rises, choking him.

It disappears from sight. And Reid turns on his heel and speed walks away, as far as he can get before dropping on his knees by a tree and emptying the contents of his stomach.

JJ is the one to materialize beside him, her palm rubbing gentle circles in his back.

His voice raspy, Reid grits out the truth, trying to explain. "It's wrong, we messed up, we got it all wrong…."

"Got what wrong, Spence?"

The words catch in his throat, the words about the funeral and coffins and embalming, because there is so much more than that.

Reid rubs a hand over his eyes. There are tears there, but they aren't falling, and only the pads of his fingers come back wet. Not counting the quiet, barely noticeable tears that night at Morgan's, before the screaming, he hasn't cried since the hospital.

And, fuck it all, he wants to.

Then the anger that has been ruling him returns, crashing over him, and Reid pulls himself to his feet and walks away from JJ, from the cemetery, from the casket that is not at all what Emily wanted.

~(CM)~

_A/N: Well, that's all for now. I actually read a post on Tumblr that mentioned the hope that Reid goes the anger route in post-Lauren episodes, with maybe Morgan being more on the depressed side, just since the other way around might be more expected, and I really agreed with that idea. It was already sort of what I had in mind for this…plus, as we saw with Drug Addicted Reid, he does have his temperamental, snarky side when it comes to dealing with stress and/or trauma. _


End file.
